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kristopher's_black_book_of_poetry
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Kristopher
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"All I have anymore are Feversick Dreams. Dreams of saving tiny Botswana from the evil and ruthless Ottoman Empire. Dreams of huge masquerade parties. Dreams of seas of endless masks. Dreams of someone emerging from that very sea. Dreams of an angel without wings. Dreams of kisses on the cheek and promises of truest love forever. I want to wake up and find a wingless angel beside me. I want to know love. . . not just feversick dreams."
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021221
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Kristopher
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"I didn't do anything wrong, I thought. . .
all I did was just want you too much. . .
I tried not to think too much about you, but the temptation was just too great to bear. . .
Please, I didn't want to make you feel sad. . .
I tried not to rush too fast, too careless. . .
but my heart fell too hard, too quick. . .
and all I did wrong was just want to love you too much. . .
. . . I'm sorry. . ."
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021221
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Kristopher
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"Do not be afraid, lovely Beauty. I do not mean you any harm, any mistreatment. Do not be afraid, sweet Beauty. The shadows hide me until you call me forth, my shape, my claws, my horns, my teeth, drawing a terrified gasp from your soft lips. My only human feature -- my blue eyes -- can reflect your fears, only I fear not a form, I only fear that you cannot see past this body to the soul trapped inside. Please, do not be afraid, lovely Beauty. . .
I fear enough for the both of us. . ."
I didn't like myself much when I was younger.
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021221
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Kristopher
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"Shhh, don't think about anything, just come back to the darkness. You don't have to worry about what others think of you or whether or not she likes you, or how you should be around others. Just come back to the darkness. It takes too much effort to stay warm and be in the light all the time. Light and warmth are highly overrated; you don't need them. Just come back to the darkness. You want to fall in love?! You want to be tossed about like a puppet from his strings? Tsk, tsk, tsk. We've taught you better than that. What's that?! This one is different, yes, we've heard THAT one before. Very well, go on. Go to your precious light. No, we're not worried. We know you'll be back. Wait until she forgets you; you'll be back in a second, writing your sorrows in fevered movements in dark pencil, trying to forget. You'll be back. . .
. . . and we'll be waiting. . ."
I wrote this make-believing all the dark things I wrote about gained a sentience of their own.
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021221
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Kristopher
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"I try to look for you in the sea of people, only to be blinded by an errant beam of colored light or pure-white strobe flash, and my lungs filled with smoke both artificial and from lit cigarettes, their carcinogens slowly murdering all those around. I strain to see you, there a glimpse, but only swallowed up again. I squint my eyelids in a well-known futile attempt to see better, to find you again, but - what's this? - whom has pulled you from the throng of half-drunk, all-hot crowd of young thrashers rocking to tin-sounding tunes masked by bass cranked up to ten-borderline-eleven? Then, I realized after a moment, maybe you pulled him from the crowd? Slowly, heavy-hearted, I slip back into the shadows from whence I came, a place only I know of; a place where the colored lights don't touch, a place where the strobes don't expose, a place where the bass-laden music doesn't penetrate, a place just for one. . .
A place just for me. . ."
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021221
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Kristopher
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"Voluntas vincit omnia"
I found this somewhere, and I can't quite remember. I think it was on a Magic card.
Hopefully, someone who knows latin can decipher it for me. *S*
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021221
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Kristopher
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"I saw you when I first got into the cafe; I thought you were very attractive. After a few cups of tea and a bit of nervous conversation on my part, I walk outside to say farewell to my chums and find you again. A while later, we had talked more, even danced in the parking lot under moonless night. A kiss and an exchange of numbers later and I was on top of the world.
It hurt falling so far, angel. . ."
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021221
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elimeny
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voluntas vincit omnia
desire conquers all.
;)
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021221
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Kristopher
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"When the sun has finished its jog through the skies,
in The Realm of Night, the Shadow King lies.
He waits till the sun has gone and ran,
and weaves his blanket of night 'cross the land.
He sprinkles white stars, a handful a measure,
and places the moon in the sky; a perfect treasure.
The Shadow King himself is a fearsome man;
pale, ashen skin; thin, bony hands.
Cold, blue lips and eyes of darkest coal,
And a shadowed cloak as thin as his soul.
He sits in his tower of ice, stone and steel,
and sups from empty plates for his midnight meal.
Eons have passed and cities have fell,
and every night he simply dips into his well
of shadows and darkness and black winged things
and weaves them together into coal-colored strings.
However, one sadness burdens the nights grim,
that no Shadow Queen ruled beside him.
So the Shadow King sits, sad and alone,
in the tower of ice and steel and stone.
And weaves the blanket as far as one can see,
and doles out the stars for all eternity. . ."
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021221
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Kristopher
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Not my own piece, but I saw it in a coffee shop and couldn't help but laugh and laugh...
"It is by Caffeine alone I set my mind in motion.
It is by the Beans of Jave the thoughts aquire speed.
The hands aquire shakes, the shakes become a warning.
It is by Caffeine alone I set my mind in motion."
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021221
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Kristopher
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"This was a book of a man with no head.
His book, it was evil. His heart, it was dead.
This book was filled with dark, bleak rhymes.
It would steal the shadows from all his sad times.
'Twixt love and hate, it would choose the latter,
if its cover were slammed, black ichor would splatter
from between the pages all colored gray.
It absorbed the night, and shunned the day.
It would sit on his shelf and laugh so grim,
and point an unseen, black, crooked fingernail at him.
Not just one dark voice, but thousands call;
blanketing his thoughts with their icy pall.
Hideous creatures named Dave scream and rant
their terrible, unholy, godless chant.
'Sealed with a curse, as sharp as a knife,
Doomed is your soul, and Damned is your life!'
So tired, at last, puts his hands to his ears,
However, silly him, inside his head are his fears!
But, there is one final twist that you all must see,
this man with his heart and demons a thousand-three,
and his booked fashioned from some dark tree,
this man with no head, why of course, was me!"
This one took a few pieces from some icons at the time; The Maxx on MTV, and a bit from a Scud: The Disposable Assassin comic.
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021221
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Kristopher
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"This is all I could be to someone like her. . . a quite literal stranger with candy. Just some tophat-bedecked dispenser of cherry Blo-Pops, an overweight Willy-Wonka-meets-Mad-Hatter. I asked for a dance - slow, at that - but became too ill with longing and amaretto sour. What does one recommend for the alcoholic with a sweet tooth? Anyway, all the sweets of the world will not buy you love, but merely rent your admiration with the lifespan of a lollypop. Or, so I believe. Or, rather, so only I can believe, for nothing else has so far proven me wrong. I fear she will forget me, just as I have been forgotten and as I will be forgotten again and again. They say you only exist because others remember you.
I fear not rejection so much as not existing at all."
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021221
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Lilac
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Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paer with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.
Im on my third time reading this book.
The_perks_of_being_a_wallflower
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021222
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